St Benet's

by David Blake

‘Other than entertaining a psychotic serial killer, I don’t think so, no.’

  Staring at the burning yacht behind them, his look of bemused confusion turned to one of acute concern. ‘It’s beginning to go down,’ he said. ‘I can try and get a little closer, if that would help?’

  ‘Probably not,’ said Jenny. ‘His hands are tied together as well. Could you maybe hold out an oar for me, and then pull us over?’

  ‘OK. Hold on. Let me try and get a little closer first.’

  Already feeling the intense heat against the side of his face, the man pulled gently on his oars before lifting one out of the rowlocks to swing over for her to grab.

  With her legs still locked around Tanner’s waist, with her free hand she took hold of the oar, where it joined the paddle. As soon as she felt she had a firm enough grip, she said to Tanner, ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘Not really,’ he replied.

  Forced to assume that he was being his normal sarcastic self, she said, ‘OK, take a deep breath.’

  As they both did, she let go of the fender rope.

  The moment she did, they slid silently beneath the surface, leaving the man in the boat to begin pulling in the half-submerged oar.

  As it gradually emerged from the blackness beneath, seeing that she was still holding on to the end, with one hand he took hold of her wrist. When he saw her let go of the oar, he threw it down into the bottom of his boat and leaned over the side to continue to pull both her and the man up until their heads broke free of the surface, gasping for air.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, staring down at the two of them.

  Seeing them nod as they blinked the water out of their eyes, he began heaving at the man’s body, until his top half was hanging over the edge of the boat. Once the woman had handed him the mud weight, he continued to pull the rest of the man in, until he rolled safely over the side to end up lying in the bottom like a dead wet fish.

  After he’d done the same for the woman, he wrestled the oar back in its rowlock, spun the boat around and began rowing them away from the burning remains of what was left of Tanner’s floating home, making speedy headway for the safety of Malthouse Broad’s moorings.

  CHAPTER FIFTY ONE

  AS THEY WERE rowed towards the moorings, Jenny busied herself with the ropes that had been used to bind Tanner, starting with the one securing him to the mud weight, before tackling the other used to hold his hands behind his back.

  Once free, he sat up straight to begin massaging his wrists. As he did, he studied Jenny’s face. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘What? That Father Thomas was going to try and burn you alive? I can’t say that I did. But after we worked out that he must have been the one behind all of this, I thought he might have a go, especially after what you’d told him earlier.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘That you’d never give up until you found out who killed Alan Birch, and the two priests.’

  ‘OK, but how did you know it was him?’

  ‘It was what I went back for, after we left St. Andrew’s church. Something that, according to you at least, is virtually invisible to the male of the species; well, what you put into them is.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m not with you.’

  ‘The vase beside Claire Judson’s grave. I realised that whoever had been leaving the flowers there must have been her son.’

  ‘And that the vase would have his prints all over it,’ concluded Tanner, feeling a little stupid for not having thought of that himself.

  ‘But I can’t say I had any idea that they’d end up belonging to Father Thomas. Fortunately, we had his prints on file, after forensics had requested them when he was at Wroxham Medical Centre to eliminate them from the scene at St. Andrew’s.’

  ‘After he’d pretended to have been attacked and hanged by the neck,’ interjected Tanner.

  ‘It was only when we did a background check on him,’ continued Jenny, ‘and discovered who his mother was, and that he’d been adopted by a Church orphanage when he was born, that I believed it.’

  Tanner took a moment to allow that to sink in, before asking, ‘I assume he’s not been caught yet?’

  ‘Not yet, no, but Cooper and Gilbert are waiting for him at his home, along with a couple of uniform.’

  ‘I doubt he’ll be going back there.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He’s got unfinished business with his father, the Bishop of Norfolk.’

  ‘But how could he know about him? We only found out ourselves a couple of hours ago.’

  ‘Because I told him,’ said Tanner, feeling even more stupid. ‘He was sitting directly opposite me when Forrester phoned. Of all the people he’s wanted to take revenge on, it’s his father who’s the most important. He’ll be heading straight over there. I guarantee it, so we’re just going to have to get to him first.’

  ‘OK, but you’re not going anywhere. As soon as we make land, I’ll get the word out to have the bishop placed under protection. As for you, John Tanner, you’re going straight back to the medical centre, even if I have to drive you there myself!’

  CHAPTER FIFTY TWO

  BY THE TIME they’d been rowed safely into Ranworth’s moorings, a number of emergency vehicles had arrived, including a fire engine, an ambulance, and a couple of squad cars.

  As they heaped thanks on their rescuer, Tanner and Jenny were both wrapped in foil blankets by waiting paramedics. They were then led away to be checked over. As soon as she was cleared, Jenny relayed Tanner’s news to DCI Forrester via one of the attending constables’ radios, that they had good reason to believe Father Thomas knew the true identity of his father, and could well be on his way up to Norwich to seek him out.

  Once they’d each given a full statement about what had happened on board the boat, after promising the paramedics that she was going to drive him to Wroxham Medical Centre herself, they were eventually allowed to be on their way. It was only when Jenny was turning into the medical centre’s car park, half an hour later, that she got a call from Cooper.

  Pulling up, she picked up the phone to answer it. After a brief one-sided conversation, she put it away to turn to Tanner and say, ‘That was Cooper. He’s not at his home.’

  ‘Who’s not at his home?’

  ‘The bishop. One of his neighbours saw him getting into someone else’s car, but he wasn’t on his own. Someone was helping him.’

  ‘Shit! That means Father Thomas has him.’

  ‘That’s what everyone’s assuming,’ continued Jenny. ‘A county-wide search is underway for his car. Cooper said that he and Gilbert are heading over to St. Andrew’s church, to see if he’s taken him there, and Forrester is driving up to Norfolk Cathedral, to liaise with units from HQ.’

  ‘I doubt he’ll go to either,’ said Tanner. ‘They’re both too obvious, and he’s not going to risk being caught; not when he’s so close to finishing what he set out to do.’

  ‘But where else would he take him?’

  With a cold blank expression, Tanner turned to stare out of the passenger side window. ‘He made a mistake the first time. He thought Martin Isaac was his father. But now he knows who it really is, I think he’s going to try and correct that mistake at the same place he made it.’

  ‘You mean…?

  ‘Where all this began. At the ruins of St. Benet’s.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY THREE

  WITH JUST ABOUT everyone else from Wroxham Police Station either racing over to St. Andrew’s church, or making their way up to Norfolk Cathedral, Tanner and Jenny knew they’d been left with little choice. If Tanner was right, and Father Thomas was taking his biological father, the Bishop of Norfolk, to St. Benet’s Abbey to torture and execute him, then they were going to have to go there on their own. Even though they’d both been nearly burned alive and half-drowned only a couple of hours earlier, they felt they had no choice.

  Jenny threw the car into reverse. With wheels spinning on the gravel, they sped out, heading for Ludham, and the
ruined abbey beyond.

  Less than twenty minutes later, Jenny was tearing down the narrow track that led down towards the banks of the River Bure, where what was left of St Benet’s Abbey lay. As the car jumped and jolted its way down the uneven surface, with a plume of dust kicked up by the tyres rising into the blackness behind them, it wasn’t long before the headlights caught the fluorescent yellow of a car’s number plate, parked up at the end.

  ‘Is that his car?’ asked Jenny, keeping her attention focused on the road.

  ‘It looks like it,’ confirmed Tanner, peering out through the windscreen.

  The moment they were near enough to be certain, Tanner dug out his phone to let Cooper and Gilbert know, and to ask them to come as quickly as they could.

  Reaching the end of the track, Jenny deliberately hand-braked the car to a halt to leave it blocking the road, so cutting off the priest’s only means of escape.

  Jumping out, they raced over towards the abbey’s ruined tower gateway, beyond which a near full moon rose above a bank of brightly illuminated clouds.

  Diving through the gap between the fence and the long-disused mill, they hurried through the field on leaden legs, following what they could see of the footpath that they knew led to the ruins of St. Benet’s Abbey.

  It was only when they reached the first misaligned outcrops of weather-worn stone that marked the entrance to the former medieval church, that they saw Father Thomas. He was kneeling at the base of the tall wooden cross that was set in stone, just beyond the high altar. Above him, the body of a fat naked man was nailed to the cross, tape flattened over his mouth, blood dripping from his wrists and feet.

  Seeing them approach, the Bishop of Norfolk raised his eyes to send them a look of pure desperation. As tears ran down over his face, they could hear what must be pleas for help, but the words themselves were unintelligible. The gaffer tape was making sure of that.

  Coming to a standstill, Tanner called out, ‘Father Thomas, it’s Detective Inspector Tanner and Detective Constable Evans, Norfolk Police!’

  Stopping where they were, they watched as the priest bowed his head and crossed his chest before standing to turn and face them.

  ‘Inspector Tanner,’ he said, a thin leering smile spreading out over his deceivingly affable face. ‘I see you survived the house warming party I went to such lengths to throw for you. And little Jenny Evans as well. How sweet.’

  ‘Father Thomas,’ continued Tanner, ‘you’re under arrest for the…’

  ‘Not yet I’m not!’ he interrupted. ‘I’ve unfinished business with my father here. But don’t worry, I’m nearly done.’

  Seeing something catch the light of the moon, held down by his side, Tanner called again, ‘This is over, Father. Drop the knife, and step away from the bishop.’

  ‘I’d love to oblige, really I would. But it’s not a knife, so regretfully, I can’t. Sorry about that.’

  As the psychotic priest held up his hand, Tanner saw that the man was right; it wasn’t a knife. What it was, however, was potentially far more lethal.

  ‘I must admit,’ the priest continued, ‘that I was about to break my father’s legs with the hammer I used to nail him up there, before enjoying a few pleasant hours watching him die from asphyxiation. But when I heard your car pull up, I decided to douse him in petrol instead.’

  He held aloft a chrome plated Zippo lighter. ‘Of course, being burned alive won’t take him nearly as long to die, but on the plus side, it will at least be considerably more painful.’

  ‘Father Thomas,’ said Tanner, as he began to edge his way forward, ‘I need you to place the lighter on the ground and raise your hands above your head.’

  ‘Or what? You’ll shoot me?’

  ‘There’s armed back-up on the way,’ Tanner warned, even though he knew that there wasn’t.

  The priest’s gaze roamed over the flat moonlit landscape that encircled them. After inhaling deeply through his nose, he said, ‘You know, one of the many things I love about the Broads is its vast open space. I’ve always found it to be somewhere you can happily lose yourself. It also just happens to be a place you can see something coming from over a mile away. Three miles, to be exact. And as I can’t see a single flashing blue light, not even beyond the horizon, if they are coming, which I doubt, they’ve got some serious distance to cover before they get here.

  ‘So, I suppose that means it’s just the four of us: you two, myself, and my over-stuffed father here. So I suggest you sit the fuck down and let me finish dealing with the man who raped and murdered my mother.’

  With that, in one swift motion, he flicked open the lid of the lighter and rolled the circular flint with his thumb.

  Seeing it spark into life, as a threatening flame began to dance at the end of Father Thomas’s now extended arm, the bishop behind began tugging painfully at each of the thick steel nails that had been driven through his wrists, sobbing and squealing as he did.

  With his hands held out in front of him, Tanner took another few steps forward.

  ‘Don’t do it, Father. You might be able to get away with what you did to the others, but if you murder the Bishop of Norfolk, right in front of two police officers, there’ll be no turning back.’

  ‘I suggest you keep your distance, Inspector,’ warned the priest. ‘I think it’s unlikely that a quick dip in Malthouse Broad would have rid you of all that petrol I poured over you earlier.’

  Tanner had almost forgotten about that. The priest was right. Despite having been completely immersed in water, his clothes would still have more than enough petrol for him to go up like a human torch, were he to come in contact with the naked flame that flickered with such menacing portent at the end of Father Thomas’s arm. The noxious fumes which drifted up from his clothes were enough for him to know that.

  Deciding on a different tack, Tanner said, ‘And there’s nowhere for you to run. We’ve blocked your car in, and you won’t get far on foot.’

  As the priest began edging his way back from the base of the cross, glancing behind him as he did, he said, ‘You don’t seriously think that I’d have been stupid enough to come all the way out here without some sort of a plan as to how I was going to get out again, other than climbing back into my car?’

  It was then that Tanner remembered the river.

  With his eyes fixed firmly on the Zippo lighter held at the end of the priest’s still outstretched arm, Tanner crept ever nearer to the base of the crucifix, until he was standing directly beneath it.

  ‘You do realise that I’ve only got to drop this, and you’ll be going up in flames, along with our friend here.’

  ‘And you don’t seem to realise what will happen if you do. I can assure you, Father Thomas, that the prison service doesn’t take at all kindly to those convicted of killing policemen, and I can’t imagine what half the inmates would think of someone who’d been banged-up for murdering various members of the clergy. So unless you really want to spend every day for the rest of your life being beaten in the morning and gang-raped at night, I’d strongly recommend that you extinguish that lighter and turn yourself in.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s too late for that now, Inspector. Far too late.’

  With that, he tossed the burning lighter over towards the base of the cross, directly at Tanner’s feet, and took a backwards step, turning his head to look behind him as he did.

  As the lighter came down, in desperation Tanner kicked out at it with his foot, catching its corner and sending it arcing back towards the priest.

  Seeing it come flying back at him from out of the corner of his eye, the priest made an instinctive grab for it. Missing it by inches, it landed against his chest to slide down his front. As it went, flames sprang up over his coat, where he must have inadvertently spilt petrol during his evening’s various nefarious activities.

  With flames climbing his black clerical shirt to begin licking at his face, he stumbled backwards, frantically trying to douse them with his hands. But his
coat sleeves must also have had traces of petrol on them, as they too caught fire. Within a matter of seconds, the entire top half of his body was consumed by a raging inferno.

  With Tanner’s own clothes still reeking of petrol, he could do nothing but stand there and watch, as the priest began spinning around in circles before charging down the incline, heading for the River Bure, limbs flailing, head screaming.

  As Jenny came sprinting up to Tanner’s side, she asked, ‘Can’t we do something?’

  ‘He’ll reach the river soon enough,’ replied Tanner, with detached dispassion.

  ‘But he’ll be dead by then.’

  ‘For his sake, hopefully, yes.’

  EPILOGUE

  Saturday, 13th July

  THE FOLLOWING WEEKEND, with the summer’s sun warming their shoulders, Tanner and Jenny stood arm-in-arm as they looked respectfully down at Claire Judson’s headstone.

  ‘This was a really sweet idea of yours, Jen,’ he said, turning to look at her.

  Unlinking her arm from his, she knelt to place a colourful bouquet of flowers within the glass vase that stood empty on the stone’s marble plinth.

  ‘I thought it was the least we could do,’ she said, taking a moment to arrange them into place. ‘Besides, I’m not sure that there’s anyone left to remember her.’

  ‘Apart from maybe Gary Mitchell,’ remarked Tanner.

  A moment’s silence followed, after which Jenny said, ‘Did I tell you that it’s looking increasingly likely that Father Thomas is going to pull through?’

  ‘You didn’t, no.’

  Tanner was still officially on sick-leave, and had subsequently been relying on Jenny to keep him updated with any news.

  ‘Although I’m not sure if that’s good or bad,’ he added. ‘I don’t suppose he’s said anything about what he did with Martin Isaac’s body, or even if he did anything with Martin Isaac’s body?’

  ‘Well, he’s still breathing through a tube.’